


On That Open Road

by whatpeanut



Category: Super Junior
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:05:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatpeanut/pseuds/whatpeanut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every summer from since he was twenty, Donghae takes off and drives his 1960 pickup truck across the country. There is a highway down south that runs from the West coast all the way to the East, and when he gets there all he does is dip his feet in the Atlantic ocean before turning right back. Because it’s not where he was headed that matters; it’s the art in the things he sees, the land he’s touched, the road he’s tasted, and the people he meets on the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Hitchhiker

 

 

When you face the open road, out in the vast country, when you follow the faded, broken yellow lines in a leap of faith, there is something about the horizon that makes you realize how small your life was before this. You realize that somehow, before you stepped out of the city you called home and onto the pavement, you convinced yourself you were living.

You know better now. You know better than to waste your limited breath on the mundane, to throw away your dreams for a few godforsaken numbers on a piece of paper. Because America is about what people own and not what they are. It’s about being afraid to die but even more afraid to live.

And either one of the two would make you happy.

This, not knowing how you’ll find your next meal or where you’ll lie your head down at night, who you’d have for company or where you’re going except forward, onwards, for as long as you can; this, having nothing left to lose and nothing less than the world at the horizon, this is how you were meant to live.

 

***

 

 

There’s a little diner that Donghae has always loved just ten minutes outside of the Californian border. It’s got round tables and red leather seats by the window and a jukebox that probably no one ever uses. It’s run by a chirpy dark skinned woman and the best part about it besides the coffee and bacon is her beautiful daughter in a waitress uniform. Donghae orders the same thing he orders every year and hopes, by chance, she might recognize a returning traveler. She doesn’t, but smiles at him anyway when Donghae tries to charm her. Apparently, there are still girls in this world who actually like being called “sweetheart” by strangers with teethless smiles. Donghae likes to believe it’s because of his good looks.

Every summer from since he was twenty, Donghae takes off and drives his 1960 pickup truck across the country. There is a highway down south that runs from the West coast all the way to the East, and when he gets there all he does is dip his feet in the Atlantic ocean before turning right back. Because it’s not where he was headed that matters; it’s the art in the things he sees, the land he’s touched, the road he’s tasted, and the people he meets on the way.

Two bites into his omelette, Donghae sees out the window and watches as a rowdy gang of bikers ride into the lot. There’s about four of them, two with girls, a blonde and a brunette, strapping the back seat. He takes a minute to eye their rides. He’d always wanted to ride a bike like that, something fast, having the wind in his hair and all. They all make their way inside, the girls laughing with their men’s arms over their shoulders. As they take their seats around a table, one of the girls catches his eye.

There’s something about the short, blonde curls framing her narrow face, her full lips, and most of all, the sadness in her eyes, seen even through her smile, that catches Donghae’s attention. The man she’s with is in a black leather jacket, her hand on his lap and his lips on her hair.

Just then, there’s a weird shift in the mood. Donghae turns to see one of the bikers stroke his knuckles up the thighs of the pretty little waitress, who is clearly looking nervous and distressed at the man’s filthy hand. The other men chuckle at their friend’s boldness while the expressions on the girls’ faces are tense. Three tables away, Donghae could hear the waitress say “stop” in vain.

“Hey whattaya say I get you outta that uniform and take you fer a ride?” The man says, pointing a thumb at a black motorcycle sitting outside in the lot.

“No thanks, sir,” she says but it’s no use.

“Hey come on now, ain’t no harm in givin’ a guy a chance is there, sweet thing?” He says. She tries to walk away just as he grabs her arm and spins her around and that’s where Donghae draws the line. “Look dipshit, she’s not interested,” he says and his voice rings in the background of silence.

“The fuck did you say?” the biker says. Donghae’s fists run cold but he stands up anyway, and from this angle it’s clear how little of a chance he has against this guy if things should come to a fight. Donghae has always had a good physique, toned arms and broad shoulders, but he doesn’t have the life on the road, the years of rough knuckles on sunburnt skin that shapes a man into a fighter. Still, Donghae’s not exactly the most logical person when it comes to his mouth.

“I said the lady’s not interested, so you can get your ass outta here and go fuck yourself.”

And that’s how he gets a fist in the face and the taste of iron on his tongue. It all happened faster than he’d expected. He wipes the blood off with a thumb, and just as he’s about to take another blow, one of the girls, the brown haired one, screams “That’s enough, Bobby! Come on, let’s just go! Let’s just get outta here and be on our way now.”

“You stay out of this!” Bobby yells back.

“No! God damn it, Bobby, I’m so sick and tired of this happenin’ every time! Every single goddamn time.” As the brown haired girl says this, the blonde one, with the eyes, sighs and mutters an “Idiot” before she gets up and walks out.

Things seem to strangely fall apart from then on as the man she’s with is the first to follow after her, and then everyone of them after that. It’s known to some people that there’s something about shame that dissipates the heat of a good fight, that even if you beat the other guy to a pulp, you are given no satisfaction. There is a tenseness in Bobby’s jaw as he, too, eventually turns away with a sneer and slams the door on his way out. The sound of four engines starting up stirs the air and just as they ride out onto the road, the woman with the blonde curls turns back to look at Donghae for a split second, and there it is again. Something unexplainable.

 

The waitress immediately thanks him and tends to Donghae’s face when the gang disappears in mere seconds. Donghae realizes then that damn it, he never got to give the guy a good punch to the gut for the way he treats a woman. He does, however, remember how beautiful this waitress is and it’s Donghae who gets to see her out of that uniform, on her offer, quick breaths in the diner’s bathroom stall before her mother realizes what they’re doing during work hours. She gives him a discount later before he hits the road, and Donghae thinks that perhaps now she’ll recognize him the next time he’s in town.

 

***

 

When he was but a boy, Donghae used to spend hours watching his papa work in the garage, popping the hoods open at high noon and showing Donghae what car guts looked like. Unlike people, cars can be fixed so long as they are loved, and his father had a talent for taking the rundown parts and pieces that other men before him no longer wanted and made them into stoic, purring, living machines again. Back then, Donghae had always thought being a car doctor was the coolest job in the world. When he turned sixteen, not much had changed except he was sixteen and that meant he wanted a 1971 Cadillac Eldorado, the kind of car that would impress all the girls at school and possibly the handsome quarterback jock Donghae spent his algebra classes staring at.   
  
When his father sighed and told him being a mechanic doesn’t make the money for a luxury car just as the luxury car doesn’t make the man, he offered Donghae, instead, an old pickup truck that somebody had left behind a long time ago and never came back to claim. It had a busted engine once, but Donghae’s father loved that big ol’ thing the most, told him it was as good as anything a man can hope for, a dream on wheels. Donghae still remembers staring at the faded red paint and calling it a lame piece of crap, just like all the other damn garbage that his father ever tried to fix.   
  
  
After his father passed away, Donghae dug out the keys, dusty through the years, and took the old truck to see the country, loved it even with the tears and regrets bedded into its leather seats.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
On a day where the sun bakes the skin and it’s so hot that Donghae’s shirt sticks to his back, he likes to roll all the windows down and, with one hand on the steering wheel, stick his head out to catch the breeze. What would be considered crazy and dangerous in the city is liberating on the country road. The wind makes his eyes tear up, but Donghae loves the sun on his skin and the dirt and dust that trail behind his truck, the gravel bouncing excitedly on the pavement as he zooms past.  
  
Every few miles, there’d be hills that roll by on what is otherwise flat, wild land, and sometimes there’d be people standing off the shoulder of the highway carrying large backpacks, their skin tanned from days out in the sun and their thumbs held up high in the air. Donghae has been on the road long enough to know how to pick a hitchhiker. Some of the most interesting people are ones met on the road, but there's an art in seeing who they are.  
  
There are people who have had their cars break down, people who are lost, who have places to go, who are quiet during the ride but thanks you with all their compassion when you decide to drop them off at the next town and leave them to the rest of their journey. That’s usually how they are.   
  
But if you’re lucky, you might meet the other kind of people. The ones with a brilliant lust for life, a violent thirst for true freedom; the ones who are interesting and beautiful, who have the most captivating laughter and whose sorrow and vitality burned and spread like wildfire; the kind of people you’d tell stories about to your friends back home and at the end of them sigh gosh, he was a man worth knowing.   
  
  
Off in the distance, there is a woman walking backwards along the road with her thumb in the air, the black leather jacket draped over her shoulders a stark contrast with her windblown blonde locks. Donghae recognizes her even from afar.   
  
  
When he slows down and their eyes meet, she smiles, cherry red lips against white teeth. She doesn’t seem to remember who he is, but Donghae thinks she’s more beautiful up close, even with the smudge in her eyeliner and the wild tangles in her hair. In the back of his head, he wonders how a girl like her had ended up walking on the road alone. Donghae pulls over beside her and ducks his head to see through the window.   
  
And he should realize it by now, being this close, but he doesn’t. Not yet.   
  
“How far are you going?” He asks instead.  
  
“As far as you’ll take me, Mister,” She says and the sound of her voice takes Donghae by surprise. Too deep for a woman her age, but sultry like the smoky voice of a lounge singer. “Nice ride.”  
  
And that’s when Donghae sees it. The sharp outline of her jaw when she scans the truck, her obvious broad shoulders under that familiar leather jacket, the huskiness of her voice, the odd way her dress hugs her body, and although none of it makes much sense to Donghae, he sees it. He sees it and he wonders how he hadn’t noticed before.  
  
“Hop in.”  
  
“Thanks stranger,” he says in a way that almost makes Donghae blush. He hops into the truck and Donghae doesn’t miss the way the ends of his dress ride up when he crosses his legs and gets comfortable in the seat. As Donghae hit the gas, the strange man in the strange clothes tugs at his netted stockings, flips down the mirror in the car and fixes his lipstick, puckers his lips at his reflection as if to deliberately draw attention. Donghae is dying to ask, dying to understand, but holds back.   
  
They spend the first few minutes in silence before the man notices Donghae’s bruised mouth and realization finally dawns upon him. There is a calmness in his voice when he asks, “Say Mister, you’re that guy from the diner aren’t you?”  
  
“I didn’t think you’d recognize me,” Donghae laughs nervously, “And you can call me Donghae, if you’d like.”  
  
“Well it was real noble of you back there, Mister Donghae,” He says, still in the act, “And stupid.”  
  
“What did you say your name was again?”  
  
“Hyukjae.”  
  
“Pleased to meet you,” Donghae says and doesn’t comment on the boyish name.   
  
“I hope that doesn’t mean you’re going to ask me to suck your dick like the other guys did,” Hyukjae says bluntly and when Donghae almost chokes and drives into the grass, Hyukjae throws his head back and laughs, “I was jus’ kidding! Sorry ‘bout that. Where are you headed on this fine day, Mister Donghae?”  
  
Donghae wonders what he’s gotten himself into.  
  
“Uh, the east coast. To the ocean,” Donghae says without thinking and hesitates before he gasps, “Did the drivers really ask you that?”  
  
“I’ve always wanted to see the ocean,” Hyukjae sighs, and when he looks towards the road it’s as if his thoughts are far away. The way he talks reminds Donghae of the way one would shoot a bullet. He’s bold, piercing. Everything Hyukjae says takes Donghae aback a little, but afterwards he doesn’t say much else, just props an elbow over the open window and looks on into the distance, blonde hair blowing in the summer wind.   
  
Donghae bites his lip and grips the steering wheel a little tighter. Donghae has picked up plenty of quiet hitchhikers before in all the times he’s taken this path, and he had grown up knowing very well not to stick his nose in other folks’ business. But from the start, there had been something curious about Hyukjae, about the girls’ clothing, about the previous owner of that leather jacket and those eyes made darker by purple eyeshadow and coats of mascara, those eyes that Donghae saw cry helplessly without shedding a tear. It’s gone now as Hyukjae gazes out into the moving landscape, but Donghae remembers what it looked like. It looked a little like drowning.  
  
The road ahead is easy and smooth for miles. Donghae turns on the car radio on Hyukjae’s request, and Donghae half expected him to sing along but he doesn’t, just reaches a hand out and guides his fingers along the currents of the wind, eyes closed and lips pressed in an effortless smile. The setting sun sets his hair ablaze and paints their skin orange as Donghae drives down the long winding road. Donghae wonders how any man could see Hyukjae like this and still let him go.   
  
-  
  
By the time they find a motel in a little town off the side of the highway, the sun has all but gone down and the sweat on the back of Donghae’s neck from a day in the heat has dried. It’s not often that a traveler would share their motel room with a hitchhiker, but sometimes it happens and when Donghae sees that Hyukjae isn’t carrying much money, he pays for a room for two. Hyukjae says he’ll make it up to him somehow, and Donghae doesn’t know what that means but agrees on it.  
  
The room they get is small but decent for a countryside motel. Even with the lights on, the room is lit dim and there’s an occasional flicker in the lamp, but there’s two single sized beds and a bathroom with warm water and that’s as good as it gets smack in the middle of Arizona. Donghae takes a look at the showers, and then at Hyukjae.  
  
“Ladies first?” he says and wonders if the men before him played along, too.  
  
Hyukjae kicks off his heels and flops down on one of the beds. “You go ahead, I’m going to lie down for a minute. I’m so tired I could just die right here on this bed.”  
  
Donghae chuckles, “Well try to keep breathing until I come back.”  
  
  
  
Some days, there aren’t any motels for miles before it gets dark, so the nights with hot water on Donghae’s skin feels like heaven. His muscles are tense and sore from a long day of driving, but Donghae finds himself panting into the tiled walls with his hand on his cock. The hot water drenches his hair, dribbles a line down his cock when Donghae pumps slow, pressured glides. For some reason, just as he’s close to climax, jacking off quickly amidst the steam, Donghae pictures Hyukjae with boyish hair and no makeup on his face. And before he knows it he’s coming violently into his hand, eyes wide in surprise, thighs twitching and knees almost giving in.  
  
  
“Shit,” he mutters inaudibly when he’s come down from his high and the water is cold dripping down his back.  
  
  
  
When Donghae walks out of the bathroom, Hyukjae is, thankfully, still alive. Upon seeing Donghae in nothing but a towel and wet hair, Hyukjae smiles and says, “Well aren’t you quite the handsome one,” before walking up to a mirror and rubbing a finger along the edge of his lipstick.  
  
The image Donghae had pictured earlier burns in his mind, and at this point he’s dying to ask. They are quiet for a few seconds before Donghae caves in.  
  
“So were you planning on telling me at all?”  
  
For a moment, there is a look of genuine confusion on Hyukjae face, and then when Donghae’s eyes flicker to his body for a fraction of a second, his reflection in the mirror grows solemn. “You.. knew?”  
  
“Look, you know what, forget it, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. God, I’m sorry.”  
  
“I guess I don’t exactly make a very attractive woman, huh,” Hyukjae says disappointedly.  
  
“No! No no it’s not like that at all,” Donghae panics, “Fuck, you’re really attractive, I just-”  
  
Hyukjae furrows his brows and almost laughs a little.  
  
“I was just,” Donghae is more than a little bewildered, “I was just curious.”  
  
For a little while they just look at each other, and Donghae feels like punching himself in the face. Hyukjae lets out a sigh, bends down to slip off his stockings and says, “It’s late, Donghae. Let’s just go to bed and I’ll tell you in the morning.”  
  
Donghae nods, and despite the bullet, there is a relief in the fact that Hyukjae will still be here in the morning, because as much as Donghae knows nothing about him, he’s drawn to Hyukjae, drawn since that morning in the diner, by the stories untold and the radio songs unsang and the man Donghae still hasn’t met.   
  
  
  
Nearing the middle of the night when Donghae is on the verge of sleep, Hyukjae murmurs, “Do you like women, or men too?”  
  
Donghae doesn’t know if he’s just talking in his sleep, but answers, “Both.”

 

 


	2. The Mother Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stories on Route 66 are told with tired smiles and men who hide their eyes at the end of them.

Travelers are given the extraordinary opportunity to meet all different kinds of people in their life, both the wonderful ones and the frustrating ones. But if there was one thing about his summers Donghae sometimes wished could be a little different, it’s that, regrettably, when it comes down to it, no matter much you grow to enjoy the company of those you meet on the road, how much a person has soaked you in their colours or stripped you of yours, the underlying, inescapable truth is that you are but tangents to each other’s lives. A journey has to run its course and in the end, people are just stories; told with smudged ink and frayed edges from the passing of time. And it’s when Donghae watches a friend become a stranger in the rear view mirror, their figures getting smaller and smaller as he drives away, that he thinks travelers are probably the loneliest people in the world.

 

Donghae wakes in the morning from the heat.

Even with his covers kicked off, there’s sweat trickling on his forehead and hair sticking to his neck. The light from the window is blinding and Donghae groans, turns away from it in annoyance. When he decides to finally open his eyes again, he is met with an empty bed. A sunken cushion where there used to be a head of blonde hair. Memories from the night before is slowly slipping into his mind and then he jolts up almost too quickly, his head spinning in dizziness.

The sound of a faucet running comes from the bathroom and runs along the pipes in the walls. Looking around, both their bags are still on the motel floor they left them and Hyukjae’s clothes are strewn over a chair. Donghae sighs and chuckles a little at himself. He begins to stretch his arms, muscles weak from sleep, but freezes halfway.

All of Hyukjae’s clothes, dress and fishnets and wig and undergarments, are strewn over a chair. Donghae blinks a few times to let that sink in.

He turns to the bathroom door just as Hyukjae walks out of it. And god, it’s impossible not to stare.

“Oh hey you’re up,” Hyukjae says casually, and then sees Donghae’s expression. “Are you okay?”

Donghae realizes then that he has his mouth held wide open. Because he hadn’t quite expected this and Hyukjae is a fucking incredible sight.

There he is, dressed in clothes made for the body he’s born with, it’s hard to believe he’s the same person Donghae met yesterday. Without the makeup, without the dress and the ridiculous fishnets, there he is, just a young man the way Donghae is, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, clear, single lidded eyes staring back at him, hair not blonde anymore but short and _red_ and

“Wow,” Donghae breathes.

“Uh, alright well, I borrowed your clothes,” Hyukjae says uncomfortably, “Hope you don’t mind.”

“No.”

“Should’ve asked you first, sorry ‘bout that,” Hyukjae says, one hand scratching the back of his neck. “You were sleeping like a baby. But I mean you can have them back as soon as we find a store or somethin’.”

“That’s okay.”

“Seriously, you alright there? Look, I understand it’s real fucked up and all, I know it is, but you said you knew. About...” He gestures to himself. “About this.”

“Your hair. It’s red,” Donghae manages to say absentmindedly, still staring.

Hyukjae looks stunned for a few seconds, but then chuckles and runs a hand through his scalp, auburn hair black at the roots.

“Yeah, last time I checked,” Hyukjae says and his smile is just as charming without the rouge staining the cracks of his lips. There is an odd wrinkle that forms right under the corners of his eyes that Donghae never noticed before.

“I gotta say, you look better than I imagined,” Donghae admits and Hyukjae’s face stretches into a smirk.

“You imagined me?” He teases. The look on Donghae’s face has him burst in laughter, his skin creasing from the stretch of his lips. “Man, you weren’t kiddin’ about being half queer.”

Donghae rolls his eyes and a pillow flies into Hyukjae’s face.

 

\--

 

Donghae waits in the truck with the engines off while Hyukjae buys them both breakfast before they hit the road. _Hey, I don’t have much money but I could still do us breakfast_ , Hyukjae had said earlier.

Hyukjae walks out of the motel diner with a donut in his mouth and his hands full. Donghae watches him from the car and it’s still hard to get used to this Hyukjae, the one who walks with long strides and no deliberate swaying in his hips. He acts like a different person. And his hair is red, for god’s sake.

Just as Hyukjae throws his utility bag over in the truck bed, Donghae catches a glimpse of the piece of lace sticking out from under the flap. He knew Hyukjae kept the leather jacket, but now apparently none of the others are left behind either. Donghae says nothing of it, but it’s enough to make him wonder about Hyukjae, about exactly how much longer he’s planning to stay like this. And it doesn’t make sense that this should make Donghae slightly uneasy.

“So,” Hyukjae starts as he hops into the truck and hands Donghae a cup of coffee, no skin contact. “You still wanna know?”

“You bet,” Donghae says before he takes a sip from the cup. A little too sweet for his tastes.

“Alright here we go, it’s real simple,” Hyukjae says, but there’s something a little off about his smile. “It’s not easy hitching rides on the mother road. I mean, especially when you’re a rough looking guy like me.” --Donghae is about to object, but Hyukjae cuts him off-- “Sure, there are lotsa nice strangers out here, but the wait takes a day or two if you’re lucky. So you gotta do what you gotta do to survive best, right? It’s just easier for a pretty looking woman to get by on the road. The guys try to impress you, the girls don’t have their guards up and everything. Everybody’s willing to help you out if you just bat your eyelashes at them, it’s great.”

“Makes enough sense,” Donghae mumbles, although that’s not at all the reason he let Hyukjae in his car in the first place. “And when they find out?”

“When they find out I’m a dude? They fuckin’ kick my ass to Sunday.” Donghae laughs, nearly spills the coffee in his hand. “S’why you almost scared the shit outta me when you found out so fast, you son of a bitch,” Hyukjae says playfully, smiles with large teeth and lips curled over his gums.

When his laughter’s all settled down and the truck is quiet again, Donghae carefully looks over at him. “So, just to hitch rides. That’s all?”

It takes a small but noticeable pause before Hyukjae swallows his food and nods. “Yeah,” He doesn’t look back at Donghae, “Yeah, that’s all.”

 

\--

 

When people get richer, things start to move faster. Cars, streets, cashflow, there are always places to get to and business to be done. And when people seem to have it all, money and cars and statements on a piece of paper that scream ‘MINE’, the only reasonable thing to worry about is to keep up with time. Because time can’t be bought and everyone’s running out of it. High demand and low supply.

That’s what new roads are built for, what the interstate highway is being built for. With eyes kept to the front and no time to look away, the “new and improved” interstate cuts through the land and makes way for people who have important things to do. It’s straight for miles and miles, made to have extra lanes, for the times that traffic gets busy and there’s no time for people to stop and realize that they’re dying faster than they’re traveling. It’s not yet finished, but the interstate makes way for the future, and what a beautiful thing that’s looking out to be,

But then there’s another type of road, one that’s much older and has its own history. Route 66 was the official name on the map, but everyone just called it the Mother Road, the road that cradles the land and winds with it, the road that seemingly moves, breathes, and carries all the stories travelers like Donghae live for. It’s served this purpose for decades. The Mother Road is what travelers like Donghae and wanderers like Hyukjae call home.

 

While it’s still yet to be noon, they drive towards the sun. Donghae throws his aviators on at one point, and Hyukjae flips the mirror down, much like the first time he did it, except this time it’s to keep the sun off his eyes. Half past the state of Arizona, after grazing the Grand Canyon, the beginnings of the Painted Desert stretches across the land.

“Man, would you look at that,” Hyukjae says in amazement. A mirage blurs the air above the hot desert, but the hills and peaks of rock that rise from the ground are banded bright red and orange, the colours spanning on and on for miles.

“Wow,” Donghae gasps as he rests his aviator low on the bridge of his nose. He’s sure that both he and Hyukjae have seen the Painted Desert and the layers of colours that give it its name quite a few times before, but this had always been one of his favourite parts of the journey, the days spent driving to the border between Arizona and New Mexico.

There is something about the desert that almost brings Donghae to tears. It’s here where the stories were told, the legends, the adventures and romance of the Great West. The freedom that men in the past have tasted as they rode through the desert chasing after sunsets, hooves clicking on the rumbling ground, clouds of orange dust trailing at their tails. The desert almost takes Donghae back in time, for adventures he’s heard and read about on his father's lap before real life came around and forced a child to grow up.

“Driving through this place always reminds me of the tales my dad used to tell me,” Donghae says. Hyukjae turns to look at him, and there seems to be an understanding in his blank expression.

“Mhm, yeah. The best ones, with gunslingers and epic outlaws and indians,” Hyukjae says, “And crossdressing hitchhikers.”

Donghae laughs and Hyukjae snickers, both of them a kind of genuine, sad chuckle. It comes to Donghae then that the colours of the desert remind him a little of Hyukjae’s hair.

“What’s your story, Donghae?” Hyukjae asks.

“What?”

“You don’t plan on being strangers the whole way do you?” Hyukjae says, “Tell me about yourself. Ever been married? Had a girl?"

Donghae hesitates, bites his lip, eyes kept on the road. He's told this story twice before in all the summers he spent on the road. The first time he had cried, and the second he'd gotten a black eye. Both times, he hated himself. Still hates himself.

“Married, yeah. Once,” Donghae says cautiously.

“Once, huh” Hyukjae leans back and puts his feet on the dashboard. “Well, what happened?”

“It’s kind of a long story.” And yet not at all, really.

“The East coast is still a ways from here, we’ve got time,” Hyukjae says.

 

 

.


	3. Chapter 3

They were both nineteen when they married secretly, just a year and a half after they’d met. The long version of the story is, back in highschool, in all their insecurities and uncertainties, she was the one who walked up to Donghae after class one day and told him she had a crush on him for the longest time. He had no idea who she was. But in all his loneliness, he liked that she was pretty in a quiet way, and that she was smart and sweet, so all his answers were yes. 

She had blue eyes and red hair, smiled with freckles on her face and laughed like all of Donghae’s jokes were funny. She didn’t mind that her parents looked at Donghae oddly for having black hair and brown eyes shaped like almonds, kissed him in the hallways at school and under the trees in her backyard when Donghae hesitated. In a way, she was perfect for him if only just for how much she loved him.

(As Donghae tells him this, Hyukjae stays quiet, rubs his feet together and seems to listen intently, expectantly.)

They were joined at the hip all through senior year. But even she didn’t know.

Because for a long time, Donghae really thought he loved her. He was so caught up in the idea of loving her that he didn’t think much of the time he sat in church and felt uncomfortable. He didn’t think much of the time a boy in the streets got called a ‘fag’ and he had flinched at the word. And he never did think too much of the time he lost his virginity to her and the first thought that came to mind, right after it was over, happened to be thank goodness I liked it. 

So when they ran away together one night and got someone to wed them secretly under the stars, Donghae was only half aware that it was all happening for the wrong reasons. At the age of nineteen, they walked hand in hand, saw a future after college with a small house and a white picket fence in the suburbs. Donghae would be ‘normal’ and life would be good. And he would never be lonely again.

At the age of twenty, Donghae has lived through a year of crying in his sleep, and although there were many things going on in his life that could easily make a grown man cry, by then both of them eventually knew.

The summer of that year, before his father’s funeral, Donghae remembers the way her lips quivered as she looked at him, her hands pulling away when he tried to touch them, and while he could tell that she still loved him—loved him like mad, her exact words were “I can’t live like this". 

And that’s the long version of the story.

 

“What’s the short version?” Hyukjae asks at the end of it. It catches Donghae by surprise, with the way he had been so quiet this whole time. He puts more pressure on the gas pedal and the engine on the truck hums a little louder as if to complain about the heat.

“I used matrimony and a girl’s heart to try to prove something to myself, how’s that for a short version?” Donghae hears the stab in his voice and wonders for a second if he should apologize, wonders who he should be apologizing to.

“Okay, I’ll admit that sounds pretty bad,” Hyukjae says, and then with a quiet, hard edged voice, “But I’ve seen worse.”

Donghae laughs weakly. “What have you seen that could possibly be worse?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Hyukjae says, “Don’t be too hard on yourself. The world is supposed to be unfair to guys like you and me. Trust me, it would’ve been far worse if you stayed with her.”

Donghae runs one hand along the curve of the steering wheel. “And also... it wasn’t just that,” he says.

“What, did you fuck a few dudes too and she found out?”

“No, god, of course not!” Donghae tenses up a little. Hyukjae leans towards the window on his side and looks at Donghae incredulously. “Wait,” he starts, “you have actually been with a man before, right?”

“Is that all you got out of everything I told you?” Donghae says and Hyukjae gasps through a smile. 

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me right?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re telling me you’ve... wanted it, but no man’s ever gotten some? A hot stud like you?” Hyukjae says and his eyes travel up and down Donghae’s body. Donghae pretends to be unphased. “I’d imagine every gay man in Southern California would tap that in an inst-”

The truck brakes abruptly as Donghae steers it onto the shoulder, the sharp sound of rubber on pavement and then gravel.

“What about you then?” Donghae blurts, his face feeling hot, “Have you been with a man before?” He realises a second after that it might have been a stupid question, considering that the first time he saw him, Hyukjae had had a man’s arm over his shoulder. Hyukjae just laughs, the look in his eyes unimpressed.

“That’s real funny,” he remarks. Donghae imagines Hyukjae was probably not as good as Donghae is at hiding it, or maybe he stopped trying.

Donghae sighs a moment later, a weak tremble in his exhale. “I just... Sometimes I wish I wasn’t the way I am, that I could’ve had a choice over things like this, you know?”

“Nope, sorry, I wouldn’t know what that’s like,” Hyukjae says, and for a second Donghae wonders how often Hyukjae says it, how often he's practiced those words in front of a mirror so that it sounds almost like he himself believes it.

Donghae presses his lips together tightly, and he bites back a comment about motorcycle owners and their leather jackets draped over blonde women with sad eyes. Hyukjae might be a little bit on the vulgar side, but Donghae still has the courtesy not to purposely probe where it hurts.

 

\--

 

The only ones to drive on the mother road these days are the tourists and occasional road dogs who drop in from bar to bar and ride with the wind in their beards and leather. As it turns out, Hyukjae isn’t any of them, isn’t even a traveler like the way Donghae is.

“Traveling implies a destination,” Hyukjae says, “I don’t got a direction. Don’t need it.”

“You don’t have a home, or a place you want to go?” Donghae asks.

“Yeah I’ve got a home,” Hyukjae says. “You’re drivin’ on it.”

Donghae figures Hyukjae isn’t serious. No one can live their life on the road, not even Hyukjae. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hyukjae studying his face, his lips pursed a little and his eyes thoughtful. Donghae clears his throat and pretends he doesn’t notice.

 

\--

 

The gas tank finally runs dry from the previous two days on the road.

They stop at a little town just before the New Mexico border where there’s a lone, small gas station right off the side of the pavement. There’s only four pumps and all of them are vacant, dim orange under the shade of the canopy.The station’s quiet save for the country music playing in the background and the roar of Donghae’s truck coming to a stop. Hyukjae hops off the truck and stretches his arms, moaning in satisfaction. 

“Hey, you mind filling it up for me?” Donghae says while handing Hyukjae twenty bucks. “I gotta take a piss.”

“Yeah sure,” Hyukjae says, ruffling a hand through his red hair. 

 

When he’s finished, Donghae decides to look around in the small convenience store. The aisles are narrow and stacked with bags of chips and nuts that look expired and stale, and some postcards of Route 66 with the colours on them faded. Donghae picks up one of them with a photo of the painted desert on the front. From here, he catches sight of Hyukjae through the window, his back turned to Donghae and one hand holding a gas pump to the truck. Donghae stops and stares.

“That your boy over there?” 

Donghae snaps out of his daze and turns to the direction of the voice. The man at the cash register desk takes a sip from a can of beer and nods to Hyukjae’s direction.

“Uh, no, he’s uh, he’s a friend,” Donghae replies.

“That’s what I meant, boy,” the man laughs. “Just noticing your nice ride is all. She’s a beauty.”

Donghae smiles. “Thanks.”

“Look around, I’ve got everything you’ll need on this fine day,” the man says, “Not often that we get fine visitors such as yourself. Ain’t nobody driving down this road much anymore.”

“I know,” Donghae shakes his head, “It’s a shame.”

 

After, Donghae ends up walking towards the counter again with a few bottles of whiskey and the postcard from before. At the end of the aisle, Donghae spots a shelf stacked with condoms and lubricants and the like, and walks past them with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

Donghae might be lacking the experience of making love to a man, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to do it. He’s read magazines, heard stories about what some men would do down in Mexico for a hundred bucks, and even more for two hundred. Seeing a pack of condoms in a convenience store doesn’t normally make him think such thoughts, and surely, he’s not going to find himself in a situation where he would need them any time soon.

Just as he pays the man at the counter, the familiar sound of loud, obnoxious engines racks the ground and Donghae turns, alarmed, to see a gang of bikers ride into the gas station. Donghae immediately looks at Hyukjae, who now has his back turned to the bikers, the gas pump left on the ground and the oil tank on the truck still open. They make eye contact, and Hyukjae looks nervous, his eyebrows furrowed. From here, Donghae can see him grit his teeth.


	4. Chapter 4

“You know those guys?”

 

Donghae turns his direction towards the man at the cash register. “I know them enough to know they’re trouble,” Donghae says and starts to make his way outside.

 

“Wait,” the man insists, commands, and there is a certain authority in his voice that makes Donghae stop in his tracks, his fist cold and knuckles white around the door handle.

 

“That’s Ray and ‘is gang. They drop by once a month or so, a buncha cocky road dogs, especially that little Bobby.” He shifts his weight and takes another sip of his beer. “But I assure you they pack more bite than they bark, even with me around, so don’t go picking no fights you hear me?”

 

Donghae sees that he’s got a hand near his back pocket and that’s enough of a warning for anybody. “You heard me boy?” the man asks again and Donghae nods.

 

“I’m not looking for no fights sir, I just gotta get out of here,” Donghae says despite how much his fist itches. The man nods in satisfaction and just before Donghae’s completely out the door he hears him sniff and murmur something along the lines of “guess I was right about Ray’s little blondie”.

 

Out in the open, he catches sight of them leaning against their motorcycles while the familiar man Donghae assumes to be Ray sits on his bike and takes out a pack of cigarettes. Donghae looks over at Hyukjae and doesn’t want to think about what Ray or any of them would do if they saw him like this, dressed in Donghae’s clothes and huddled against his truck with all the sharp edges of a young man.

 

They don’t seem to notice him, Bobby and the others laughing huskily and spitting on the grounding while Ray puts a joint in his mouth. Even with the chiseled planes of his face, he looks more aged than when Donghae saw him last, his face scruffy from days gone without shaving and his eyes dark and swollen. His hair is brown and unruly, just long enough to tangle. It’s strange how he almost looks too much like a pitiful, handsome mess of a man to hold any threat.  
“Shit, I left my lighter in my jacket,” he sighs just as Donghae makes his way to the truck. He didn’t sound like the leader of a small biker gang, his voice raspy and defeated.

 

“That bitch of yours must’ve taken it far by now,” another man laughs ironically. “That was our only lighter, too.”

 

Hyukjae frowns and doesn’t even notice when Donghae is by his side, his eyes on Ray and his shoulders slumped. “Get in,” Donghae whispers but Hyukjae doesn’t break his gaze. “Hyukjae, get in the truck,” he says a little louder, a little more frantically.

 

“Hey, you boys got a lighter?” Ray suddenly barks at them.

 

Hyukjae flinches.

 

Donghae’s blood runs cold.

 

Everything seems to happen slowly from there. Ray’s eyebrows are scrunched up in mild frustration, but a look of shock completely takes over his face as he looks Hyukjae dead in the eyes, and if one observed closely, it’s clear the exact moment that the recognition hits him, hits him hard in the chest as his breath hitches. All of a sudden there’s life in his reddened eyes. In slow motion, the cigarette slips out from between Ray’s lips. The sound of the joint hitting the ground is a loud drum, softer with each bounce against the pavement.

 

They’re speechless, all frozen in place until Hyukjae moves. He reaches into Donghae’s truck bed and rummages around for a small silver object. All eyes are on him as he takes a deep breath, walks towards Ray calmly, void of any emotion, and stops right in front of him. Hyukjae bends down, smooth and slow, and picks up his cigarette.

 

Donghae swallows. Ray stays still as a statue when, to Donghae surprise, Hyukjae leans close and places it back between his lips. Donghae begins to feel uncomfortable, like he’s intruding in something intimate, but it’s impossible to look away.

 

It seems to take all the strength in Ray’s build to constrain himself, his lips shaking, as Hyukjae gently grabs the back of his neck to steady him. For a moment Donghae is so, so sure that Hyukjae’s about to kiss him. He doesn’t, just flicks the silver lighter open and brings the flame to the end of the joint in Ray’s mouth. Ray looks at Hyukjae through pained eyes, his hand coming up halfway, as if to touch Hyukjae’s hip, before he holds back and drops it onto the seat of his motorcycle.

 

When the joint catches flame, Hyukjae slips the lighter into the front pocket of Ray’s jeans and Donghae swears Hyukjae leans in then to whisper something into his ear.

 

Ray’s eyes widen and they snap up at Donghae briefly.

 

Then Hyukjae turns around to walk back to where Donghae stands. Ray is left there to stare after Hyukjae with a sad longing that’s like nothing Donghae has ever seen before. The other bikers are quiet for once, but there is no hint of shock or disgust on their faces, only concern when they look over at Ray. It becomes clear to Donghae then that they knew.

 

They’ve always known.

 

“Are we getting in?” Hyukjae asks as if what happened was the most normal thing in the world. Donghae’s mouth had been hanging open the whole time.

 

“What was that just now?”

 

“Please drive?”

 

“What did you-”

 

“Please,” Hyukjae pleads.

 

 

The bikers never did chase after them. And Donghae wonders if Hyukjae knew they wouldn’t, because not once had he looked back. Hyukjae’s eyes are kept on the endless road, his expression blank the way some men look when they cry dry tears.

 

And what’s perhaps worse is that Donghae can’t seem to forget the look on Ray’s face, the tired, desperate, hopeless way he watched Hyukjae walk away. There was something there that Donghae doesn’t dare put his finger on.

 

“So,” Donghae says, unsure of where to start, “Ray.”

 

Hyukjae looks at him in surprise. “H-How do you know his name?”

 

“Someone said you were Ray’s blondie,” Donghae admits, “And I saw you two that day in the diner, so I figured it was him.”

 

Hyukjae laughs breathlessly, but it’s almost like he’s close to tears. “Is that what they call me?”

 

“He loved you,” Donghae says and it’s not a question. Hyukjae scoffs.

“It doesn’t matter”

 

“Did you-”

 

“Did I love him? Is that what you’re about to ask?” Hyukjae snaps breathlessly. “Look, it doesn’t fucking matter.”

 

Donghae is just about to open his mouth when there is a sudden cough in the rear of the truck. It’s a sort of alarming sound, especially on an engine as old as this. Despite Donghae’s foot on the gas pedal, the truck slows down with each wheeze and comes to a pathetic stop in the middle of the road. Donghae scans the dashboard and finally notices the gas meter, where the red needle rests on ‘E’.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Donghae exclaims. It takes two seconds until Hyukjae realizes just how much gas he had filled up the truck with earlier. He sighs, throws his head back and drags his palm down his face.

 

“Aw man, Donghae, I’m sorry,” Hyukjae says apologetically. Donghae takes a deep breath, trying to keep his blood from boiling.

 

“Tell me again how it doesn’t matter,” Donghae says through his teeth, “It matters if they show up every two days just so that you could light the bastard’s fucking cigarette doesn’t it? It matters if shit like this happens on a road where no fucking cars drive by for days doesn’t it!”

 

Hyukjae sits in silence for a minute, and his guilt is clear in the press of his lips and the fidget of his hands.

 

Donghae closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “I’m just,” He says slowly, “trying to understand.”

 

When Hyukjae doesn’t say anything, he goes on. “I don’t get you. You were dressed as a woman in that diner and he had his arms wrapped around you and everything. You looked at me on the back of his bike before you left and then a day later I meet you as you are now. And God forbid I don’t find you attractive.”

 

Hyukjae looks down and the corners of his mouth twitches a little at Donghae’s words.

 

“When I saw them again in that gas station all I could think about was to get you out of there. Because you weren’t wearing that goddamn dress anymore and I was so sure they were gonna recognize you and hurt you, I was so sure. But then you,” Donghae pauses, “you go and do... all of that. And Ray saw me when you whispered something to him and then the way he looked at you, Hyukjae, the way he fucking looked at you.”

 

“That’s because it was the last time he’ll ever see me again,” Hyukjae murmurs, smiling sadly.

 

“Why?”

 

Hyukjae turns to look him in the eyes, as if to challenge any accusations he might have of him lying. “Because I’d rather go with you.”

 

“Be serious. You hardly know me,” Donghae says even though his heart is pounding and he would very much like to believe Hyukjae.

 

 

\--

 

The truck is a lone vehicle in a desert landscape. No cars drive by even by the time the sky starts to turn orange, and past the initial panic, Donghae figures they’ll have to spend the night in the truck. They had pushed it onto the shoulder and climbed up onto the back, both worn out and shiny from sweat.

 

Despite being stranded in the middle of the countryside, Donghae feels surprisingly at peace. The ground is orange and green, grass filled the cracks in the road and tall, rugged rocks lie far away into the horizon, a rusty red in the distance like the hair on Hyukjae’s head. They sit across from each other and hork down two cans of beans Donghae had packed in his bags weeks ago. Somehow watching the sun go down like this, atop the truck bed while the summer air warms their skin, isn’t all that bad.

 

The sky bleeds clouds of orange and red when Donghae opens up the first bottle of whiskey. Both looking into the desert, he passes the glass bottle over to Hyukjae so he could take a swig as well.

 

“I’m sure someone’s bound to show up tomorrow, but even if no one does, I wouldn’t mind dying to this,” Hyukjae says as he gestures to where heaven meets the earth. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

 

Donghae nods. It’s true, Donghae has seen many beautiful things in his life, but to witness the sun sink into the American desert, where the sky mirrors the red of the dirt, is something spectacular.

 

Hyukjae takes another swig before handing the whiskey back, only letting go of the bottle until it’s right by Donghae’s mouth. It reminds Donghae of the way Hyukjae handled himself with Ray, when he had held the back of his neck and leaned so close Ray must’ve felt his breath on his cheek. It’s unbelievable how he can make a simple gesture like lighting a cigarette seem so teasing and intimate.

 

“You know, back there, I really thought you were going to kiss him,” Donghae says with a chuckle.

 

Hyukjae smiles and doesn’t say anything for the longest time. Donghae is probably a little drunk, but he still catches the glint of sadness that appear in Hyukjae’s eyes. And it’s almost like the first time he had seen it, when blonde hair draped over his eyelashes and black pigment stuck to the outline of his eyes. For a while, Donghae ponders over Hyukjae and Ray, how different unhappiness looked on either of them. Ray, the man who was probably so tough, was a wild kind of sadness, mad with longing for something that’s slipping away right before his eyes. It’s the kind of sadness that’s helpless and vulnerable, the kind that can’t keep secrets.

 

But Hyukjae is a sort of melancholy.

 

It’s the sort of thing that not everyone notices, except Donghae happened to see it from the very start and ever since then it’s always been clear what Hyukjae was, even through all his jokes and laughs and everything else he does to keep it hidden away. And it is a deep, pensive, and burrowing sadness.

 

It takes half another bottle of whiskey, way after Donghae has thought the topic has dropped, before Hyukjae says, “I met him when I was twenty five.”

 

Donghae looks up drowsily.

 

“I’m twenty seven now, it was a long time,” he sighs.

 

“Did you love him?” Donghae asks cautiously. “Were you happy?” And what he means to ask is if there was ever a time that he was happy, if there was ever a time when he and Ray didn’t make each other sad.

 

“Those are two very different questions, Mister Donghae,” Hyukjae responds before he cocks his head back and pours whiskey into his open mouth. He winces when he swallows, and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I was twenty five and I stood under a gas station for hours in the middle of the night. I danced--worked--in the bar down the street, and before that I worked in the bar in another town a few miles away, and before that, well, you get the idea,” Hyukjae winks and smiles weakly at that. Donghae pictures Hyukjae moving his hips sensually around a pole under fluorescent lights and stops his train of thought immediately. “Anyway, I was standing under that gas station after work, hoping to catch a ride with someone so I’d have a place to sleep for the night, and that’s when Ray rode in with his motorcycle, all dark and handsome and tough. I didn’t even know what his preference was, but he was smoking a cigarette so coolly and I think when he looked at me, with his big blue eyes, he knew what I was. He asked if I needed a ride somewhere, and I said yes please. He asked how far I’m going, and I said as far as he’ll take me.”

 

Donghae somehow feels a little pained by this, and suddenly a lot of things make sense.

 

“I really liked him, he was cool and handsome and he didn’t try to pay me for any favours. But Ray didn’t quite like that he was what he was, hated himself a little for it. It’s hard, I guess, when you have to be all tough and strong so that your buddies can rely on you. I think the gang all knew about him, but maybe nobody ever thought it important enough to bring it up. I could tell though that when I dressed as a woman it made Ray feel a little better about himself. Like he was with a girl,” Hyukjae laughs.

 

“It would’ve been great if I really was born a girl, but I did what I did, and I didn’t mind. As long as he would have me I was okay with it. I was on the open road again, free again, and that’s all that mattered to me.”

 

“Did you love him?” Donghae asks for the third time. And he should know better by now that he isn’t going to get an answer.

 

Perhaps it’s the alcohol that’s gone to his head, or Hyukjae, or maybe nothing at all that makes Donghae then say, “Do you think you could ever love me?”

 

Hyukjae laughs, “You’re drunk.”

 

“Tell me,” Donghae insists stupidly.

 

“Be serious, I hardly know you,” Hyukjae teases, making an imitation with his voice, but he moves closer, smelling of more alcohol than Donghae does. The sky is almost complete dark by now and the stars have begun to shine.

 

Donghae gulps nervously as Hyukjae gets on a kneeling position in front of him. He leans close and his eyes flicker to Donghae’s mouth. He looks intoxicated and high and Donghae’s heart is pounding like mad, hyperaware of Hyukjae’s hand on his knee.

 

Then, Hyukjae tilts his head a little, drags Donghae by the chin, and kisses him.

 

 

It’s a long, heavy kiss as Hyukjae leans into his mouth, his hand moving to Donghae’s waist to steady him against the force of it. It tastes like whiskey and musk, everything and nothing like what Donghae imagined kissing a man would be, but it does things to him all the same, his heart fluttering and his stomach sinking. Hyukjae breaks it too soon, pulls away just far enough for Donghae not to fall into his lips again. For a moment, the kiss lingers in the inches between their mouths.

 

When Hyukjae speaks Donghae could almost taste his breath.

 

“If there was a chance that I could ever fall in love with you, Mister Donghae,” Hyukjae says, staring into Donghae’s eyes, “I wouldn’t be doing this.”

 

And then he kisses Donghae hungrily, his mouth open and insistent. Donghae grabs the back of his neck and finally gets a real taste, his tongue slipping between Hyukjae’s lips. They’re urgent and Hyukjae isn’t careful with his hands this time, lifting the end of Donghae’s shirt with a thumb to touch the skin there. There are shivers running down Donghae’s spine when Hyukjae leans backwards and slowly lies down, dragging Donghae along so not to break the kiss until Donghae falls between his legs. Donghae’s almost hard and he could feel that Hyukjae is being turned on as well, his groin pressed against Donghae’s. Hyukjae’s hands are under Donghae’s shirt and running all over his back, gliding lower and lower until he’s gripping his ass.

 

Hyukjae lets out the most arousing sound Donghae’s ever heard when he grinds up against him. All Donghae could think about is to take their clothes off as quickly as possible, how Hyukjae would feel when they’re pressed up against each other skin on skin.

 

Donghae sits up, Hyukjae’s legs on either side of him, and pulls his shirt off. Hyukjae’s laid out on the truck bed, his breathing heavy, and looks up at him through hooded eyes. He turns his body to reach for his bag and pulls out a condom. Fumbling to open the packet, he looks at Donghae insistently, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

 

Donghae shivers, catches the hint and unbuckles his belt.

 

“There’s a first for everything right?” Hyukjae chuckles breathlessly and Donghae doesn’t even have the mind to be annoyed right now. Not when Hyukjae is sliding his pants off and bringing his knees up to his chest. Donghae strokes himself until he’s completely hard, and Hyukjae makes it too easy by slipping a finger into his ass, fingering and stretching himself while watching Donghae stroke his own cock.

 

“Come on, I want you,” Hyukjae murmurs.

 

Donghae runs his cock down Hyukjae’s balls and between Hyukjae’s ass, watching sensually as the head of his cock teases Hyukjae’s hole. Hyukjae throws his head back.

 

“Goddamn it Donghae, I know it’s your first time with a man but fuck me already,” Hyukjae moans.

 

Donghae leans in to latch their mouths together as he holds the base of his cock and pushes into Hyukjae. Hyukjae talks him through it, tells him when he’s entering too fast. And it’s like nothing he could have imagined. Hyukjae has his mouth held open as Donghae slowly fills him completely and it feels so good, so deep, that Donghae is afraid he might already come.

 

“Don’t move,” Hyukjae commands, panting, “Oh, fuck.”

 

He holds still for a few seconds until Hyukjae’s breathing steadies and he nods for Donghae to move. His fingers dig into Donghae’s shoulder as Donghae pulls out halfway and thrusts. Hyukjae moans in the way that makes Donghae’s stomach sink and they fall into an odd rhythm. Hyukjae pants each time Donghae moves into him and when Donghae leans in to kiss him, Hyukjae has his mouth open, breathing into Donghae’s mouth.

 

Donghae kisses his neck, leaving wet trails along his jaw as he pounds into Hyukjae’s ass again and again. “You like that?” Donghae whispers huskily into Hyukjae’s ear, and Hyukjae replies with a higher pitched moan, his heels digging into Donghae’s lower back. “Keep doing that,” he groans, bring a hand down to stroke his own cock, “Don’t fucking stop.”

 

Donghae wraps an arm around Hyukjae’s waist, reaching under his body, and lifts him up so that their chests are pressed up together and Hyukjae’s ass is off the truck bed. And then the rhythm is frantic, Donghae fucks him fast and deep and Hyukjae is practically crying. Donghae knows half of it is on purpose but he likes it anyway, breathing into Hyukjae’s neck as he feels himself getting close.

 

Donghae comes one of the hardest he ever came, throwing his head back and groaning in pleasure, still grinding his cock into Hyukjae as the last of his orgasm spills into the condom. When he pulls out, Hyukjae strokes himself faster, his other hand grabbing Donghae’s hand and guiding it towards his hole.

 

“Touch me,” Hyukjae pleads while pushing two of Donghae’s fingers inside, “Stroke upwards with your fingers, god, please.”

 

Donghae does as he says, fucking Hyukjae with his fingers and watching as Hyukjae throws his head to the side and bites his lips to contain his moans, lifting his hips up and not even bothering to touch his cock anymore as Donghae’s fingers darted in and out of him. Donghae watches in utter amazement as Hyukjae screams, climaxing just like this, his come spurting onto his stomach and Donghae’s fingers still stroking sensually inside him. He pants until his breathing evens, and Donghae finally pulls out of him. With his zips his pants zipped back up, Donghae leans against the truck, stunned and speechless from everything that had just happened.

 

 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he remembers Hyukjae kissing him before mumbling “You were better than he was on his first time, I'll give you that.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a monster i'm sorry. Wrote it in one sitting and too tired to proofread so apologies for the shit quality fucking yet again


	5. A Meaninglessness

The truck is up and running again, the wind rushing in Donghae’s hair and making a mess of the fringe falling over his eyes, when Donghae concludes that they are not going to talk about it.

 

They didn’t get a chance to bring it up at first. Some hippies with a van had come to their rescue early in the morning. It couldn’t have been half past eight when Hyukjae woke him up and told him to get dressed properly if he ever wanted to get the hell out of the middle of nowhere. They waved their arms, jumped up and down and shouted furiously until the van seemed to slow down as it got closer. Donghae’s throat burns from the yelling and the air is so dry he wished he had saved some of the whisky. Hyukjae was the one who took care of business, talked to the group of friends and slipped a few bills into their hands when he thought Donghae wasn’t looking. The sun was especially poignant, the kind of feverish brightness that made Donghae hot and lethargic, so all he did was watch as Hyukjae made conversation with the bypassers, following the movement of his mouth as Hyukjae laughed at the right times and said the right, particular things. There’s a mesmerizing manner in the way Hyukjae talks and smiles and cranes his neck as he glides his fingers along the fringe of his hair. By the time the gas tank was filled a quarter from the brim, they were good to go and Hyukjae was upbeat as ever despite how much he must have been hungover. 

 

The hum of the engine sends shivers up Donghae’s spine and the reawakening vibrations of the steering wheel under his palms sing to his soul. Hyukjae stuck half his body out the window and screamed against the wind as the truck started up again. “Whooo!” he kept going as Donghae laughed and sped up. There’s something about moving forward that just drives Hyukjae’s spirits mad and lights him on fire. It doesn’t take long for Donghae to start feeling it boiling inside him, too, and he thinks they’re both idiots, screaming into the desert, their voices hoarse and choking against the wind that’s tugging back on the edges of their skin. 

 

 

It was about two hours later when they hit a pit stop. Donghae had seen a sign about twenty miles ago which told them they would run into a state park if they branched off the road on the right and drove for about fifteen minutes. Twenty miles later, Donghae’s driving down the road that’ll take them to the Palo Duro Canyon. He’s never actually been here before, there’s always a few places here and there that he seems to miss every summer. “It’s just a great big hole in the ground,” Hyukjae says and Donghae just laughs. “I thought you were one with a sense of adventure.” He parks the truck in a small dirt lot where the trail to the actual canyon begins.

 

“If you want to see a canyon, there’s a bigger one--a grander one--back in Arizona,” Hyukjae comments. Donghae can tell he’s opposed to the idea of hiking up an hour just to see a ‘hole in the ground’.

 

“You can stay here if you want,” Donghae says, “But I think I wanna stretch my legs out and see what this country has to offer.”

 

Hyukjae nods, but Donghae doesn’t get as far as ten metres before he hears the truck door slam and Hyukjae yell “Wait up, you sly son of a bitch!” and starts to laugh, holding his stomach.

 

 

Neither of them brings up the night before, the kisses and tugs and pulls in the back of the truck. It’s strange how Donghae thinks of it now, with Hyukjae walking breathlessly in front of him and the sun beating down their backs. It’s strange to see Hyukjae engage with the wild, as if he’s been picked up and thrown in a place where doesn’t belong, a place that can’t offer him people to charm, clothing that would make men blush, and alcohol to free his mind. Regardless, he’s the one leading the way. His body is thin, but not frail. He’s toned enough so that the muscles in his arms and calves show through his flesh. It’s bad that all Donghae can see or think about is the sway in Hyukjae’s hips when he walks and the movement, the graceful stirs, of his shoulder blades through his wifebeater, the sweat dripping down the back of his neck from his fiery hair as he treks through the dirt and rock. Donghae swallows and looks down. It’s just the heat, Donghae tells himself. It’s just the goddamned heat and the goddamned sun.

 

Gaining higher ground with every step, they remain silent for what seems like the longest time, their breaths heavy from the hike and the thinning air. Hyukjae walks in front and doesn’t turn around (why doesn’t he turn around?), so Donghae doesn’t say anything, either. But really, Donghae is dying for Hyukjae to bring it up, something, anything, just so that he can free what’s been trapped in his head all morning. Hyukjae’s back shifts when he raises an arm to wipe the sweat off his forehead. Donghae tries to focus on his own two feet, dumbly forcing one foot to step in front of the other, not daring to let his mind wander or look up at the body that fills him with want, the one he has become more familiar with overnight. The sun is harsh and Donghae can feel the back of his neck starting to burn.

 

“I hope this canyon is worth it,” he says, more so to himself. When Hyukjae doesn’t seem to have a response, he sighs with his head kept down, except he doesn’t notice that Hyukjae has stopped moving and suddenly finds himself walking right into him. The feeling of his skin against Hyukjae’s gives an almost startling, instant reaction.

 

“Wha-” Donghae starts but stops halfway. Because he finally looks up, follows where Hyukjae is looking, and his words get caught in his throat.

 

“It is.” Hyukjae murmurs softly.

 

 

From where he sits on the cliffs, the Palo Duro canyon is a great expanse of land that seems to reach all the way to the edge of the earth. The ground looks as if it’s on fire, a recurring character of this part of the country. Looming clouds blanket vast shadows on the span of red and green. Calm, slow, tranquil. 

 

It can’t be explained, but, he feels free. Small, humble, insignificant, and wildly free. How could he begin to understand what it is? 

 

There is no life. Before this, yes, and maybe after, but in the given moment there is just existence. A wonderful meaninglessness. What a curious thing it is, to welcome it. He is nothing, therefore he could be everything.

 

 

“I was wrong, it’s not a hole” Hyukjae says from where he stands on the edge. Donghae looks up next to him, a hand over his forehead to block the sun. “It’s a depression.”

 

“I suppose so.”

 

“How far of a jump do you then suppose it is?” Hyukjae asks, taking a step forward and leaning in to inspect what’s below.

 

“What’re you doing?”

 

“Do you know what they say is the worst way to kill yourself?”

 

“Hyukjae, I swear to god, if y-”

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to jump.” Hyukjae steps back and sits himself down next to Donghae to give him a peace of mind. Donghae notices now the swollen redness under Hyukjae’s eyes. He looks beaten and defeated, but outwardly serene. Perhaps it’s a reflection of the scenery around them. His eyes are kept in the distance and when he talks his mouth moves only slightly, as if the words are just slipping out between his lips. “It’s to lie when you say you don’t love someone.”

 

Donghae blinks, afraid to think anything of the unreasonable, ridiculous, beautiful madness that Hyukjae stores in his mind. “How many times have you died then?” He asks.

 

Hyukjae turns to him and the eye contact is jarring, but Donghae doesn’t look away. Hyukjae breaks into one of the tired smiles Donghae has gotten used to seeing on him, the ones he always exhales through. “Why is it so hard to fool you?” he says, chuckling. You’re wrong, you make one hell of a fool out of me, Donghae wants to say but Hyukjae is leaning sideways, and then dropping his body until his cheek is on Donghae’s thigh and his hand is resting on his knee.

 

Nothing feels real.

 

Donghae’s breath hitches. The weight of Hyukjae’s head is far too close, far too intimate. Holding his breath, he fights the immediate reaction to touch Hyukjae’s hair. His hand hovers there cautiously for two seconds that drag into three, hesitant and afraid, before he finally does it, spreading his fingers so that they’re rooted on Hyukjae’s scalp, and then strokes them through the short crimson mess of his hair. 

 

“I loved him.” Hyukjae says.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Hyukjae turns his body to look into his eyes. Donghae places a hand on his chin and runs a thumb across his bottom lip, watching as it quivered.

 

“I don’t think he’s ever known that.”

 

Donghae smiles because he thinks if he ever stood a chance, neither will he. Hyukjae smiles because he’s right. 

 

“No, you like to die by your own hands.”


End file.
